


The World of Coffins

by Kount_Xero



Series: Ginger Snapped [2]
Category: Ginger Snaps (2000 2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:23:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kount_Xero/pseuds/Kount_Xero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot sequel to "After Ginger Snaps."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World of Coffins

Brigitte walks up the hill, her shoes digging into the earth as she ascends.  She’s flanked on both sides by tombstones that watch her, as if feeling what she’s feeling, but they say nothing.  There is such silence in the world of coffins, Brigitte knows, she has been there before.  She remembers, as she clears the ascent, how she used to come here, to this cemetery, and listen to that silence, in attempt to figure out what this death thing was all about.

And now that she’s walking through this world, she understands the whole thing even less.

 

She looks ahead.  A little ways away, they are waiting for her.  Let them wait for a while.  She wants to enjoy this.

 

Brigitte remembers the times she spent in the cemetery, and not just by herself.  She remembers playing among the graves with Ginger, making up stories for those buried, trying to figure out how they died.  That was how Search and Destroy was born.  They went there when they cut class, not because they wanted to, but because there was nothing else to do in Bailey Downs during the day.  The town was dead, so it made sense that they go to the graveyard.

Sometimes, they’d sit behind a particular grave, and Brigitte would do her homework while Ginger chatted up the corpse sleeping six foot deep.  Then, Brigitte would have to do Ginger’s homework as well, as the older sibling would not be persuaded to do schoolwork during their time amongst the dead.

Sometimes, they’d just go there and sleep the day away, next to graves of their choice.  Brigitte always chose Mary Sue Lewis, buried in the far end.  She never introduced her to Ginger, but always told her of her sister.

Of course, without fail, they’d be discovered by the groundskeeper, who, oddly enough, never thought anything of the presence of two girls playing around the stones.  When he first discovered them, he just asked them not to damage the stones or upset the graves themselves, and left.  He’d then always come around, and if they were sleeping, he’d get some blankets to keep them from catching a cold.

And when they woke up, they could always go back home, hand-in-hand, ready to face Pam’s anger.

Brigitte remembers, and smiles.  Fond memories.

 

Brigitte takes each of the gathered in with her approach.  There is Sam, wearing a black suit, something she never expected to see him in, but his shirt isn’t tucked in and his tie is askew.  Just like him.

Next to him, in the shadow of two cops in full uniform, is Pam.  She’s wearing the dress Brigitte recalls from Christmas, the pencil skirt, the bolero jacket... her wrists are embellished with handcuffs.  She’s looking at the coffin of her daughter, transfixed.  Maybe, Brigitte thinks, she’s trying to understand too.

The groundskeeper, wearing his blue coveralls, is also waiting there.  An unlikely guest, but still holding vigil, even then.  Well, he’s the third and final guest besides herself, Brigitte knows.  Nobody else is coming.

Then there is Reverend Gilbert, standing there with a bible in his hand, waiting patiently for her to take her place.

Brigitte walks up to join them.  There is nobody else coming.

“Bet you didn’t think it’d be like this, Ginge.” Brigitte says.

The rustle through the tombstones agrees.

 

Pam’s face lights up when she sees Brigitte approach.  Brigitte walks up to her, half expecting a reaction out of her guardians, but when they don’t move, she reaches out and hugs her mother.

“I missed you.” Pam says.

“I’m sorry.” Brigitte says.

“I didn’t expect you to come.”

“I should have.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.  Are you safe?”

Sam’s hand, his only good hand still, holds her shoulder, and squeezes slightly, as if to reassure.  He doesn’t need to say anything.

“Yes.  Yes, I am safe, mom.”

“What happened to Henry?” Pam asks, “I know this isn’t the time, but...”

“He left, mom.” Brigitte says, “They told me he left.”

“You know, I’m not surprised.” Pam sighs, “The one good thing that man gave to me, was you and your sister...”

She tears up, and before Brigitte can say anything, she finds herself holding her mother as she sobs, and clenches her teeth in order to keep herself from doing the same.

 

Reverend Gilbert talks about life everlasting and the Kingdom of Heaven, and Brigitte just phases out the whole speech.  She looks at the coffin, the newest member of the world of coffins.  It’s a simple, basic model, and the only thing they could get them to arrange is to make it black.  The silver cross on it seems wrong to Brigitte, but she doesn’t object.

The coffin is standing in the mouth of a six-foot hole, Ginger’s final bed, ready to be lowered and then covered with earth, warm and comforting.

Brigitte imagines Ginger’s body in there.  Pictures her face, her cheeks still rosy, her cherubic features fixed in child-like peace that she got when she slept, wearing that black dress... so Ginger, really, is in there.  She’s just... not there.  So is there a difference, Brigitte wonders, is her body nothing? Is it all just soul or consciousness or mind, and all the things you can’t touch?

Then what is it to die? Is it to leave your body behind and float, in the ether or whatever? Is it to disappear, forever, never to return and never to be found again, to be hopelessly and eternally lost?

Brigitte wonders.  What is it to die?

The void in her chest, where Ginger used to be, answers: to die is to be absent.  Absent from the world, from your body, from the flow of everyday miracles and apocalypses.  It’s absence, of soul, of thought, of mind, of hope and of work.  It’s the lack of substance, lack of presence, lack of an entire universe that was squeezed into the idea of a person.

_Alone in the dark night, Ginge.  The snow will cover our footsteps._

 

Reverend Gilbert finishes.  Thank God.  He simply leaves after that, and nobody questions why he isn’t going to stay.  The groundskeeper offers his condolences to each one of them, and tells Brigitte, he was glad to have them there.  Brigitte can only respond in a thank you that she is sure sounded nothing like gratefulness.

Sam puts his hand in his pocket, and shuts up.  Pamela is alternating between composing herself and crying.  Brigitte gets up, approaches the coffin.  She slides her hand across the surface of it, feels the coffin varnish aid her hand.  With her other hand, she reaches out and touches the two bird skull necklaces that are hanging from her neck.

“You did it, Ginger.” She whispers, “You’re out by sixteen _and_ dead in this scene.  You did it.  Only you could do both.”

Brigitte leans over and embraces the coffin, as best as she could.  Inside that wooden case, Ginger is sleeping, she knows, and this knowledge comforts her.

“I wish I could be there with you.” Brigitte says, “Hey, I’m still fifteen, give me a year, right?”

Brigitte kisses the cold surface.  She rises, and shows Ginger the two bird skull necklaces, intertwined and tangled up, hanging from her neck.

“Together forever.  Now, you’ll always be with me.”

Brigitte crouches and digs her fingers into the earth.  She takes a handful, feeling every single bit of dirt falling through the sieve of her fingers, and she places the soil onto the cross.

“Sleep well, Ginger.”

 

Pam and Brigitte say their goodbyes and the cops take Pam away.  Sam keeps a friendly distance to Brigitte on their walk back to his van, guessing that she wouldn’t want anyone that near her in that situation.

They find the van right outside the cemetery gates.  They both get in.  Sam starts the car.  Before backing up, he steals a glance and looks at Brigitte.  Sees that, with one hand tightly holding the bird skulls, she’s silently crying.  He doesn’t say anything, and it’s a silent drive back to the greenhouse, away from the world of coffins and back to the dead silence of living things.


End file.
